


ode to my solitude

by 07JoeTheBastardo



Series: let freedom ring [2]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Betrayal, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Character Study, Childhood Memories, Dream Smp, Father-Son Relationship, Fundy is underrated, Grandson- Despicable, Hamilton References, Heavy Angst, Is Fundy A Furry?, Jackmanifold is underrated, Magic, Minecraft, Repressed Memories, Respawn AU, Song Lyrics, Violent Thoughts, War, and now i have to redo everything, ao3 deleted my first draft, l'manberg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:40:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27368947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/07JoeTheBastardo/pseuds/07JoeTheBastardo
Summary: The Founding Father of L'manberg is dead!The people scream in horror.The Father of L'manberg is dead!They howl in joy.Wilbur Soot is dead!The people cry mournfully.And in the eye of the hurricane is Fundy.
Relationships: Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot
Series: let freedom ring [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1953463
Comments: 6
Kudos: 81





	ode to my solitude

**Author's Note:**

> wow, here we go again. ao3 deleted my draft, even though i was working on it last night and woke up to nothing. i feel fine.

_The goodbye is the hardest part_   
_When we find ourselves back at the start_   
_But I'm not so brave, and I'm not so smart, no_   
_I'm doing you a favor, doing you a favor_

Fundy knows he isn't the best person in the world right now. His father is in the wind, the walls are coming down and the van is gone. Without the walls, it feels like walking half-cut memories, everything a bit too wide and open for his skin to become adjusted to. The ever-present walls were always a constant, from the first shot to the finale of the war. 

He looks out, still a little surprised to see the mountains without any walls obstructing the view. He tells himself that it's better like this, that there won't be any more arrows or tnt that the wall kept out. That Schlatt is there to protect the country.

He looks down at the book in his lap. After Schlatt found out he knows the dead language and can use them effectively, he has been keeping his eye on him. For the better or worse, he has Schlatt's attention. He looks out the window again, straight into the forest.

Fundy secretly hopes his father is alright.

_One day you will understand_   
_Why I pushed you away as I am_   
_And you will find a better man than I am_   
_Trust, I'm doing you a favor, doing you a favor_

Fundy looks behind his shoulder, wrapping his jacket tighter around him. The city's bright lights were now soft in the distance. He ignores the friction between his tighten finger on the rough fabric. 

He really isn't dressed for the occasion, is he?

On the same hand, neither are the huddled group in the open valley. The moonlight is bright enough that Fundy feels somewhat useless with his torch. A small stream is close up, the sounds of rustling trees and running water is . . . peaceful. 

A peaceful burial for a chaotic ending. 

How ironic.

It's then when he spots the small group, the soft light of their torches are all gathered under the tall oak tree. Quickly he put out his. Under the darkness, he awkwardly shuffles his feet, waiting for something to happen. He doesn't want to step closer, so he's in the weird limbo of being close enough to hear the sobs of Niki and being too far away to offer any comfort. 

He felt a bubble of amusement at the thought. Why would she want comfort from the murderer?

Still. He holds his breath, his lungs ache, as he sees his father's remains in Niki's arms. "Remains" is a generous term. All there was inside the small jar was golden dust that hadn't flown away when the fighting started and an old jacket. The fire quickly spread as Tommy screamed raw and inhuman, swinging madly in his anger and Technoblade—the inhuman speed and too accurately locked in a bloodthirsty tunnel vision as he split the air with his sword. There wasn't any land left unburned.

His shoulder throbs at the memory. 

The Wilbur he knows from snippets of his memories— the Wilbur that raised him, and led him through the fire of war— was calm, and collected, and rational above all else, and stuck to his principles with dedication and perseverance that Fundy tried his hardest to emulate. (It always fell flat though, he often found himself feeling pretend.)

Wilbur with ink in his hands, tire eyes, and kind smile, he doesn't want to remember the pained smile, in the end, you'll blow us all away—

And now he is dust.

Instead of feeling the gravity of that, of opening the floodgates for all the emotions threatening to choke him, he clicks his mouth shut and closes his eyes for a second. Counting his minutes. 

Fundy knows every action is necessary and that every word spoken is a small brick leading closer to Schlatt's side. He knows that. But he is still wondering how it all came to be like this as he watches his father's "body" be lowered into the mud.

_The Founding Father of L'manberg is dead!_

There were no chants of people in the streets. No banners of red for the blood spilled, blue for the platform he created, or any white banners for the peace he held. There are no parades, no candles, only the gold dust scattered in the wind. 

_The Father of L'manberg is dead!_

There was mourning, but it was done in the safety of darkness. There were no chants of an anthem, but quiet prayers spoken with hushed tones. 

His dad is gone, Fundy sharply flinched at the realization. Slowly breathing to calm his heart and closed his eyes to ignore the world that is threatening to stumble him out of its axis. There will be no more soft lullabies with guitar notes playing in his ears, there will be no more chess games in front of the fireplace, no more night kisses when his eyes are heavy despite his age. 

_My dad is gone._

His chest is hollow, however, Fundy knows he should be choking right now. Struggling to push air into his lungs as he gasps like a madman. That his eyes should be blurry and snot in his nose. But he's not. He's clean, perfect, he's like that marble statue his dad showed him once, traveling for his birthday. 

He opens his eyes again when there's some muffled noise becoming slowly louder. Angrier. Alert and ready to move, run, fight before he stops short as he figures it out. It's Niki, struggling against Eret's hold as she glares directly at him, it's the impending doom that blooms in his chest, like a dying sun over the horizon and pointing directly at him.

Fundy doesn't move, stands his ground as she marches with a fire drumming in her eyes. Her soft features that held L'manberg's peace are twisted and painted red. 

_Smack!_

Pain blooms quickly, and Fundy has to blink away the little stars at the sudden change of direction. Was he just slapped? Niki stops herself, shrugging off Eret's hands. 

“Why?” Her voice breaks, it bubbles with heavy emotion, her shoulders sagging at the weight of them. Fundy knew he wasn't welcomed here, not even at his own father's funeral, he knew the gamble. So he doesn't know why it pierces his heart so harshly as she cries in her fury. Niki, ever so soft-spoken and a canvas of her raw emotions is all red and angry.

"Fundy... I think you need to leave right now," Eret, the king of regret, steps forward. He holds his own grudges and grievances, there's still some part of Fundy that seethes whenever he looks at Eret. Maybe he's still a little bitter about the betrayal, so what? No one is here to tell him off for it.

"Whatever," The forced indifference in his tone pierces through Niki's sobs and the mumble of the small crowd behind her — Eret’s right, he needs to leave and make more plans of attack. Bribe more folks, speak doubt into Schlatt's ear, pick up where Tubbo left behind. Too many responsibilities for him to waste his time in an empty grave, every second wasted is a loss.

He can see it on Eret’s face — the raw anger and pain, he finds is a little ironic considering what Eret has done to them. He huffed a laugh, curious for a simple question that plagues his mind since the execution. 

"Why do you care so much?" Fundy tightens his grip on the mask of indifference as he watches the expression he can only describe as broken fury. Eret's eyebrows turn up in surprise and his face morphs into one of misery and then of anger. Did he think Fundy was screwing with him? He's genuinely curious about why a traitor cares so much. 

"Why— How could you say that?! He's your father! I have regretted what I have done! Can you say the same?!" Fundy watches with a cool expression, keeping his eye on the small huddle group, — Tubbo, Jack, Sam, and was that Skeppy? Well, it doesn't matter. 

"Was. He was my father. And you are the traitor of L'manberg, the original one." Fundy always admired Wilbur's ability to keep cool as fire rained upon them. He wouldn't waver, keep a steady hand as blades were pointed at his throat. He hopes he is at least projecting a small piece of that. Eret scrunched his face at the end. 

Fundy smiles, and for the first time, he doesn't know if he can keep the mere facade spinning, "We are all traitors Eret. The election? What have we done then? We placed Schlatt in charge because we wanted to, you cannot blame this on me." His voice cracks as he looks beyond them, at the bottom of the oak tree. Did his dad like oak better? Didn't he say redwood was his favorite? 

Silence is his only answer.

However, he can hear the rising anger in Niki and see her trembling fists as she prepares to swing, struggling against Eret's hold. Fundy is silent as she is dragged away, the "group" behind her shuffles awkwardly. He is still Wilbur's son in their eyes, and he is also his killer. _What a contradicting paradox._

Jack is the only one that walks him back to Manberg, always at his side. Fundy’s familiar with this, his own hands a mess of blisters and burns and bruises from all the work he’s had to do for Schlatt, to prove himself and his worth here. He hopes he can at least do something useful for once. 

_And if I were you, I wouldn't love me neither_   
_Said if I were you, I wouldn't love me neither_

_I wouldn't love me neither_

Jack is his friend. He's an outsider in the war who shed no blood or has tainted his hands and didn't have any stake in it. He made no sacrifices in it but it didn't change the fact that he still wore his jacket when he thought no one was looking.

Before the elections and the speeches, Fundy told him everything that weighed on his mind and more. It's during that strange limbo of peace, during the reconstruction period where Fundy used to think he was more alive than ever. His days were filled and bustling with action; from planning and constructing new housing, planting more trees to the lush landscape, and cleaning up the muck left behind from the war.

His father is too busy with the paperwork of trying to spark a government from thin air for the people that wait patiently. It takes weeks for the proper bones of a system to appear, and his father weeps when he starts to think of the justice system and the laws. Tubbo did most of the heavy lifting on that one.

So when Wilbur is too busy, Fundy finds Jack and they cause chaos together. Fundy might be young but his mind is older. He takes the mantle of the Son of L'manberg, a drunken word spoken from Wilbur, and Fundy snatched it and took off running since. He's gotta be his own man, like his father but bolder in his steps. So he begins to speak out more, interjects in problems he _knows_ he can help in, and starts to think of a future at his father's side. 

Tommy is forever cemented in that position, but Fundy is damned if he at least didn't try. He shoulders his legacy with pride and looks at everything and anything he can polish and showcase to his father, so he begins to write. He writes poems rather than songs because unlike his father, he's never really one for music writing. He pockets it away, waiting till the next day and the day after because Wilbur Soot is too busy right now, _sorry champ gotta get this done, it's too late right now, why don't we talk in the morning._

 _It doesn't matter_ , he tells Jack bitterly. The nation must come first, he _understands_ that. Fundy just wishes Wilbur would recognize the accomplishments done for the benefit of the country they founded together. Jack only smiles sadly and places a comforting hand on his shoulder as they sit on the rooftop. Watching the sunset is a traditional spur from war when they would keep an eye out for any enemies and sit down because their legs hurt too much, hoping not to get caught.

Now, sitting on the rooftop of an abandoned building, Schlatt closed it down stating something about letting the past die, watching the sunset. He's alone when a hand is placed on his shoulder. 

Fundy jumps, snarling before he turns and stops. Jack says nothing as Fundy whips back at the dying sun, a faint tremor in his hands, and Jack slides down at his side, saying nothing about the sharp teeth or the red eyes. 

Just for now, Fundy pretends they are back in that strange limbo, and he can faintly wear a music disc play far away.

_The boy who fell into the sky_   
_Had no one there to watch him cry_   
_He looked at you with his empty eyes and said:_   
_"I'm doing you a favor, doing you a favor."_

He holds more power than ever. ( it's a lie, he's more of a trophy in Schlatt's museum ) so he sits idle on Schlatt's side.

Fundy writes because he's running out of time, disregarding the ink stains and snubbing the tremors of his fingers as they struggle to hold the pen. It's painful. He writes about the numbers and plans, the strategies used by Schlatt in his unknown plan. Everything about Schaltt is like a smokescreen, one moment he is all booming laughter, and the next he snaps into a cold indifference in the same sentence. It places Fundy in a delicate ecosystem of power that is shared by Tubbo, him, and Quackity. Everything that holds even a minuscule of importance, Fundy writes down, huddles in his desk next to a dying candle. Knowledge is power after all.

Tubbo has been slipping lately, the death of Wilbur hanging like a noose on his shoulder, judging everything. That's Wilbur for you, even in death, he retains a heavy presence. He sees him in the cracks of the fallen walls, hears the creaks and groans of wooden foundation, and the crashing of the water into the shore. Everything was touched by Wilbur, he is the foundation, so it makes sense that even the worms in the mud turn against him.

But he looks into the mirror one day and he swears he sees Wilbur. Ink stain hands, with straight shoulders and dark eyes. He wonders what his father would say about him now. _you'll blow us all away,_ he says with a fond smile, as blood varnish his teeth.

_Snap!_

Fundy looks down on the broken ink pen, a gift from his father after the war ended, and he feels a small part of him die. The white volume rose in his ears as he stood up. He tosses the broken quill aside, not caring to see where it has fallen, walking away from the dying candle, and goes off into the night. Darkness is the only veil of protection that makes him feel safe enough to write. He hasn't noticed how his mask of indifference hasn't wavered a bit, a pleasant surprise to be sure. Fundy at least expected a tear or two, maybe even a small sting of chest pain. 

But when he places his hand against his chest, as if all the pain was centered there physically, he feels nothing. He smiles. This means he is getting better, a step closer to what Wilbur Soot was

_And if I were you, I wouldn't love me neither_   
_Said if I were you, I wouldn't love me neither_

_I wouldn't love me neither_

He wonders how he'll die.

Fundy thinks, and makes up all the different scenarios of his eventual death. Maybe in a fire sparked by Tommy, a cold blade to his chest by Technoblade, or from the back by Tubbo. Crazy to think they were once a family. The only person he can trust is Quackity, the wavering, and ever so hesitant Quackity. He's becoming bolder in his distaste for how Schlatt runs the country, and Fundy doesn't blame him. Schlatt has become more aggressive in expanding the borders, now causing friction between Dream SMP. Eret, for his part, has remained somewhat civil, since the real leader is off who knows where.

But this is all good news for him, since Quackity and Tubbo are on shaky grounds, Fundy has stepped up his efforts. He is no blind fool, he knows his connection to Wilbur puts Schlatt on edge. So he too becomes bolder, but in quiet ways. He doesn't shout like Quackity, he rather makes more suggestions to their faces. He doesn't stutter or become defensive like Tubbo, but shoulders on and tells Schlatt what he thinks of them in broad daylight now. 

And it has paid off. 

Tubbo, trembling shoulders, and sleeves too long is trapped inside the same cell Wilbur was held. Schlatt caught him sitting on the same bench under an oak tree, writing a letter to the enemy. He knows it bullshits, well the writing a letter thing. Fundy holds no doubt that Tubbo actually has done that, but in broad daylight? Not even Tubbo can be that reckless. 

That same night, Fundy "accidentally" dropped off a copy of the cell key when he left the man his last meal. He doesn't stick around much, and it's Fundy that planted a broken pair of paperclips, the same ones Tubbo used, and he tells Schlatt that were used to pick the lock in the cell. 

Angry shouting soon exploded, followed by the smacking of fists thrown by both the president and vice-president. Fundy only keeps his head down and hides in the corner. This is where he begins to think of his demise. 

A small thought popped up through his haze. He thinks and thinks, even when the two men exhausted themselves and Quackity walks out of the room. (he never sees him again, he wonders if that's what Quackity will remember him as; the small fox hiding in the shadows, trembling in the corner) But he thinks and _thinks_ because his mind is the only thing he has now. 

He smiles. Fundy knows what to do now.

He sees Tommy for the first since the execution. He is taller than he remembers, he is also less fire but somehow is more twisted in his rage because, despite everything he has lost, all Tommy has is his rage. Maybe he was there to make sure Tubbo got out safely, so he turns a blind eye when he sees a flash of color in the ever-expanding border of Marburg. He knows they are watching, they always are.

Still, there is no falter in his step as he walks into his bunker. Small heaven where Fundy can drop he act and cry, mourn and shout at the heavens. But he doesn't do that, it'll be childish, and in his honesty, it scares him how scarce he cares now. The ultimate goal is in reach now, Fundy releases as he looks around himself. History books preserved by him before Schlatt burned his library to the ground, weapons scattered around in the corner, sharp and bloodthirsty. But he doesn't pay them any mind as he looks at the real prize money.

Sand and gravel were tucked away in heavy chest, leftovers from the reconstruction era. He just needs a few more ingredients and more time, and he'll be ready. Fundy knows everything that needs to be known and what he needs to do.

So he visits Jack for one last time.

_How I wish I told a different tale_   
_Like we chased the light and his love prevailed_   
_But his blood went cold and his skin went pale_   
_She got a letter in the mail, said:_   
_"I'm doing you a favor, doing you a favor"_

Jack is concerned. After all, he never leaves his base during the day, or if he is, then he is trailing the shadows of Schlatt. He is the one who takes Tubbo's place after the escape, and he will be the vice-president soon. Schlatt called off the search for his right-hand man only after ten minutes of searching. He's the only one still standing in Schlatt's chess game, after all, if you have the skin you stay in the game.

But he's don't win unless he's playing the game, so begins the final act.

Jack opens the door with a surprise, quickly ushering him inside. Fundy knows it's a bit dangerous for him to be out and about without Schlatt at his side. Angry people need to vent, and it's too easy to place every wrongdoing into his back. His left side can testify after someone threw a goddamn pair of sharp _scissors_ and somehow managed to draw blood.

Fundy only smiles at his sweating friend. Fundy has also taken a new role, the executioner. Whenever someone speaks too loud, Fundy is the one that tracks them down and throw them into a cell. He doesn't kill people, but they also remember him standing in front of Wilbur as he spoke his doom in front of a crowd. So it's a fitting title really.

He only hands him a simple key, dropping it into his palms, "You have connections to Niki, don't you?"

The confused man quickly turns pale. Niki was thrown out after her outspoken methods evolved to trying to assassinate the president. Eret quickly placed his protection on her, and today is the day where Schlatt plans on declaring war actually. No one else knows of course, not even his loyal dogs, but Fundy is the one that funneled that idea and drew plans of attack if the president should ever request that of him. Schlatt only pated him on the back and told him to talk to him in the morning, with a wicked smile and sharp eyes. 

Fundy smiles, somehow causing the other to jump a little, "Don't worry I'm not here to turn you in and throw you into a cell. Just. . ."

He trails off, letting it hang in the tension, trying to come up with the pretty golden words that his dad always used. 

"Look, I am not. . . a good person. They are," Jack doesn't need any reference to know who he was referring to, "But I can at least do something right before everything, well, don't worry about it. The key should let you into my bunker, it's under the flag. You should be safe there."

Summon all the courage he requires, he pulls the startled man into a hug. It's weird feeling someone touch and wrap their arms around his body, to allow himself to breathe in the coconut scent of his hair and the sun in the clothes. When was the last time he was hugged? Fundy likes to think of himself as blue in its dullest form. Always throwing his arms wide open above everything with no clear idea of what he's trying to reach.

He closes his eyes, trying to bask everything in, and pulls away first. Jack is still confused and silent, gripping the key with white knuckles. _But does even matter?_

"Fundy, man, what are you going to do?" There's a quiver in Jack's voice that stalls Fundy for a second. What _is_ he going to do? He smiles and turns to look at his only friend. 

"I'm just going to set the record straight." But at least he knows he should be doing this. _If only you get it right._ Fundy walks out, deaf to the pleas of his friend, and walks to the white house. The morning sun is out, and the sky is clear. It such a lovely day, he thought as he grips the handle to the entrance with blistered hands and redstone underneath his fingernails. 

Schlatt is behind the door, he can hear his muffled voice as he tells the rest of his two loyal dogs what is going to happen. Fundy snickers.

He flickers a switch, humming lullabies of freedom, and thinks that his father wouldn't be too proud of what he's going to do.

Oh well, the dead can't speak.

**Author's Note:**

> hope y'all enjoy angst!
> 
> I tried making Fundy into what Wilbur would have been if he didn't bite the dust. hahaha, get it? Anyway, yeah, that's it, folks. hope you enjoyed, I'm planning on writing another small piece, this time on Tommy, so who knows how that'll turn out.
> 
> thanks for stopping by


End file.
